


from fire and ice she is made

by Saral_Hylor



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Winter Olympics, F/M, Non-Explicit, Prompt Fill, Sexual Content, there are more that three sentences, three sentence prompt fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2291438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saral_Hylor/pseuds/Saral_Hylor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr askbox prompt: Clint/Natasha, Winter Olympics AU (she's a figure skater, he's a biathlete), friendly banter turns into something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	from fire and ice she is made

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quandong_crumble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quandong_crumble/gifts).



> I failed at keeping this to three sentences.

There's cold in his bones. There always is after a day in the slopes, it doesn't seem to matter how many layers he puts on, or how fast he moves he can always feel the cold that crept in under his skin and settled against his bones. It's not such a bad feeling. It usually means he's had a good day, and the gold medal sitting on the table in front of him can attest to that. It just makes him want to reach out to someone. 

Someone who isn't Barney - slapping him in the back and bellowing congratulations. 

She's there. It's like she's been there all the time, edging closer all the time, scrutinising the one medal he has compared to her two - gold and silver - and he can see the smirk that is a challenge, a boast, but at the same time it's beautiful. 

Everything about her is beautiful. She's like fire and ice combined together to make the perfect person. Body a work of art that no sculptor could ever replicate, and watching her on the ice is more exhilarating than making the perfect shot. 

She carves words into his skin with every rebuttal she makes, every quick and clever line etches something warm into his bones and he thinks, maybe if he lets her say enough, if he keeps up his end of the playful argument, the warmth she pushes under his skin will never leave. 

Her lips taste like ice, cold and perfect, the thread of a breath fluttering where they touch, and he thinks of snowflakes drifting on the breeze. He's hesitant to touch her, not sure if she'll fall apart beneath his hands, but she's still there, not some apparition of swirling snow.

There's warmth between them, the slide of skin against skin, hot breath across his neck and cheeks. Her fingers are in his hair, nails dragging trails of fire over his scalp tendrils of warmth curling down his spine and spreading around to his chest. She's warmth, heat surrounding him, holding him close as he rocks into her, until he's half sure that they run the risk of combusting. She sighs his name against his skin, other words in Russian that he doesn't think he's supposed to understand, but he responds, accent terrible, but he can feel her lips smile against his cheek. 

There's a hitch in her breath, quiet and he almost misses it, but he can feel her thighs trembling against his sides and feels the way she tightens around him. 

He falls apart against her, her skin catching the scattered pieces that used to be him. Her hands gather the pieces back together, stroking across his back, collecting him back into a whole, and he wonders if she'd do it every time he fell apart, or if, after this moment, she'd disappear like snowflakes on the wind. 


End file.
